


the night will save us

by storyskein



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Porn, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fingerfucking, Mutual Masturbation, season 4 spec-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 18:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9621023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyskein/pseuds/storyskein
Summary: Bellamy and Clarke need some comfort in the middle of the night and at the end of the world.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rashaka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rashaka/gifts).



> title from 'the night to save us' by the strumbellas. their album, 'hope', is pretty much a soundtrack for season 4, go have a listen.
> 
> tumblr prompt for rashaka: bellarke prompt: angsty mutual masturbation pls. s4. (gracias!)

After Bellamy and Miller tap Bryan and Harper for second watch they split with silent nods. Miller and Bryan’s room is down the north hall, Bellamy has a solo bunk at the end of the south hall. 

The only sound in the lab complex is the low mechanical hum, so reminiscent of the Ark it makes him shiver. He makes one last stop to check the security footage before heading to shower and his own quarters. Only Jackson is up, taking the midnight shift in the lab. Good. Abby had instituted a curfew before Bellamy and his team had arrived, and even with circumstances as they were, it was nice to know that some of his people, at least, were safe enough to get regular rest. 

For a little while, anyway. 

But he tries not to think about the after, the outcome of all of this, not when he can enjoy a hot shower for as long as he wants, use clean towels, put on clean flannel pants and a new-to-him shirt. They had found so much in the storage closets, all packed away in airlocked bags in the sealed bunker/lab. It kind of feels like a waste to have it all now, at the end of all things, but--

Again. Not thinking about that. 

Bellamy turns down the hallway of the single bunk rooms, not much more than closets with cots built in, just as he sees Clarke exiting out of Raven’s room. 

“Late night?” 

Clarke startles, and when she sees him she flashes a small smile. But there are bags under her eyes and her face is drawn, weary. “Raven found a possible location of another bunker on some old maps.” 

“When do I leave?” He’s joking, but also not, and Clarke can tell. 

Her mouth works for a moment. Bellamy looks away because they’ve been here before. One of them needs to do something dangerous, and after the City of Light it’s been increasingly hard to let the other go. For a few weeks after leaving Polis they were inseparable, but Clarke is needed in the lab and it’s necessary that Bellamy head the away teams, and every time one of them leaves now, it might be the last time. That knowledge permeates every goodbye, every separation. 

“Tomorrow morning.” She struggles for a second then blurts out, “But you don’t have go. Miller can lead, he’s more than capable--”

“Clarke. You know I can’t do that. Miller went out last time, we agreed that guards with partners would only go out every other mission--”

“You are my partner!” Clarke’s voice snaps like a whip and echoes down the corridor. 

Bellamy steps back, heart thudding. “What?”

“I....” 

Clarke opens her mouth, then closes it; words stick in Bellamy’s throat. It feels lethal to say something now, selfish, to unleash what’s been held between them for so long.

Instead there’s the moment before he kisses Clarke, and the next, with her lips brushing against his. The only word to describe it is sweet, Clarke’s lips are soft and searching and she’s unsure, a vulnerability he knows is only for him. 

So Bellamy cups her neck with his hand and leans into the kiss, shows her that fuck _yes_ he wants this. Clarke hands slide up his chest to twine around his neck, bring him down to her to keep him there. 

As if they feel it at the same time, the reality of them kissing _now_ crashes down on both of them. Clarke tears away from him, her lips swollen and eyes glinting in the low blue light of the hallway. 

“We…” She shakes her head a little as if trying to clear it. 

“Shouldn’t?” Bellamy’s hands grip his hips, fingers digging hard into his flesh.

“No. I don’t know.” Clarke’s voice is thin, and he knows her so well, sure that this is longing in her voice, this yearning. They’re at the end of the end of the world and neither of them are ready for each other, and it’s the most tragic, comic fucking thing. After everything. Here they are. 

“Fucking shit,” he laughs, bitter, swipes a hand across his mouth. “Our timing.”

“The worst.” Clarke looks away, jaw clenching before she turns back to him with her chin tilted up and gaze challenging even if there are tears in her eyes. It’s so quintessentially Clarke that his heart twists painfully, makes his chest feel both tight and stretched at the same time. “But I want...something. With you. I just...I wanted more time.” 

And she looks so heartbroken in that moment that Bellamy can’t fucking stand it. He wanted more time too, of course, for things to be _right_ , for it to be like it should have been, their past loves mourned, Arkadia thriving, maybe Clarke back in medical and him training cadets. There’s a sour taste in his mouth when these images dart around his mind, the hiss of could have been, should have been. More than anything, he wants those thoughts to go away, to give her some relief, to give himself some relief, any reprieve from the weight that about to crush them both. 

Bellamy pulls her into a kiss, his teeth scraping her lips, hungry for her. Clarke grabs at him, doing anything to get him closer, scraping her nails along his scalp until she tugs at his hair, arching the full length of her body against him.

Clarke’s greed turns him on even more, and suddenly--the hallway isn’t a good place to be. Bellamy slides his hands behind her thighs and lifts her, her ankles locking into place behind him. She kisses down his neck, open-mouthed and hot, stopping to suck hard on his collarbone. Blood rushes to his dick, heat curls in his lower belly. 

But then they’re in his room, door snapping shut behind them. Bellamy pushes her up against a wall, and she slides down just enough to grind on him, arms clinging to his shoulders. Her mouth is needy and hot, and he can’t get enough of how she alive she is in his arms. 

It’s too much to continue like that, Clarke whines with frustration, grinning as he chuckles a little at her. Clarke wiggles down and then they’re breathlessly tugging at each other’s clothes, the only thought in his mind _off_. Clarke’s tits spring free and his mouth is on them, sucking and biting while his fingers pinch the other. Clarke gasps, “More,” into his ear so he draws the nipple between his teeth, applies pressure. 

“Harder!” As he clamps down harder, twisting the other nipple in between his finger, she whispers, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” and her whole body shivers. Then Clarke hauls him up, sliding naked up along his body as she rises on her toes, her skin warm and soft against his. Her hands and mouth greedily roam over him; she presses her lips to the lesion scars that stripe his chest, product of a hazmat suit malfunction several weeks ago. 

But they can’t stop to think about that, it’s the knowledge that they’re trying to forget. Bellamy pulls them back on his bed. He sits, leaning against the wall, and Clarke straddles his lower thighs, gives herself enough room to drop her hand to his cock. She fists from the head, drawing the precum down the shaft. Bellamy groans and returns the favor, his hand cupping her cunt. She’s soaked, blonde curls darkened with her come. 

Clarke curls over him; Bellamy grips the back of her neck to keep her close. He wants to feel her on him, wants to _see_ her as they do this. They’re not fucking, they both somehow know that they can’t. But they can do this. 

She dips her fingers into her cunt along with him for a moment, draws out her arousal and coats his dick with it. Her fist pumps slowly on him at first while he mimics her rhythm with his fingers sliding along her slit, but slow isn’t what either of them want. Clarke rocks down harder on his hand and he presses one finger, then two into her, filling her up, circling the base of his palm against her clit to give Clarke something to fuck herself on. 

And she does, her tits bounce and her eyelids flutter closed. Sweat beads at her temple and he’s no better with her hand fisting his dick, tightening at the right places, twisting like sin over the head and dragging down so his hips can’t help but jerk and thrust. Their breathing is harsh, panting, together, the sound of it fills the space between them. Clarke pleads _harder_ , and he does, fucking his fingers deep inside of her, all the way up to the knuckle. Bellamy can tell she’s close, her movements concentrate on getting the exact kind of friction on her clit that she wants, and shit, seeing Clarke like this, focused on getting off, on getting him off, is worth whatever else it will cost him, them, in the morning. 

Clarke’s entire body goes rigid as she keens, and she bites down on his shoulder to stifle the noise. With that sharp sting, Bellamy’s own orgasm slams through him, his body suddenly losing it at the feeling of her cunt clenching on his fingers, her hips bucking on his hand, her hand tight and perfect on his dick. His vision blurs, darkens, as his come hits his stomach. Distantly, he feels Clarke sway with a second, smaller peak, and she collapses against his chest.

They only rise once a chill sends goosebumps prickling over Clarke’s flesh. They move without speaking, him wiping up and pulling on his pajama pants, her tugging on her leggings and bra. It’s not awkward, exactly, but it’s not easy, either, to know what to do. 

Just as Clarke is headed towards the door, Bellamy reaches out and pulls her back. It’s hard to force the words out, but suddenly the fear about sleeping with Clarke when they all might die tomorrow and most likely will in a few months seems...stupid. This is what he wants, and he’s pretty sure this is what she wants, too. They might not be able to have everything that they had hoped for, wished for. But they can have this. 

“Stay,” he says. 

Clarke’s smile is small, but real. And that’s enough. 


End file.
